


Road to Acceptance

by cathymee



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Confessions, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathymee/pseuds/cathymee
Summary: Frodo's four days before September 21, 3022.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and places mentioned in this fanfiction were made by Tolkien himself, and were merely borrowed for the sole purpose of entertainment. Y'all might not know what my real name is, but I can assure you that my surname isn't Tolkien. I only own the craziness.

**Frodo's Journal**

**Bag End**

**September 16, 3022**

_It was not a journey that I ever wanted to have._

_If I'd known that it was not a fun experience to be caught in the middle of a war that is not meant for Hobbits to witness, I would have returned the Ring to Bilbo, shut Bag End's door and stayed in the Shire— it would be better to be held captive by Saruman. Not that it's a good time for the Shire. Or maybe it would've been better if I had let myself fade when the Morgul blade had pierced me._

_But it is unnecessary to dwell on the things that had happened in the past. There is no need to wish for Death, like I silently had in Ithilien._

_The pain was unbearable, you see. At the beginning. Not at the end. At the end the pain had lessened, but by now, I know it would never truly heal._

_Merry and Pippin had taken me to the Green Dragon yesterday. They had paid for everything, sang and danced, all for the sake of my happiness. Even though everyone had laughed and cheered, I had remained silent. Forced a smile whenever they looked at my direction or directly at me, yes, but I never said a word, or joined them to their singing. It dawned on me then. Deep down, I cannot find the joy that had been my key to living. I am so tired. I had never been so tired._

_I could not find whom I once was. I could not restore the peacefulness of my mind, occassionally being ripped apart by the thoughts of my failure, repeating the day over and over again. I had stood on the edge like a fool, still intent on listening to the thoughts that the Ring fed my mind._

_I could've let go of the chain and flee with you, Sam, but Its grip was too strong. I had resisted it for 17 years, before the Quest even started. And I cracked._

_Perhaps I would never heal. I had been in denial for far too long._

_If I need peace, to lighten my heart and soul, away from the people that I love, then I shall go, instead of insisting to stay where I would only watch others crumple as I continue to fade, bit by bit._

_I am afraid this would be my last words in this journal of mine. All the other details are in the Red Book, of course. I do not know why I had kept this for such a long time— this journal had stayed with me ever since I was only a wee child in Buckland._

_I do not know where this journal would be when I left, but I know for certain that it would be yours, too, my dear Sam. Along with the Red Book. But shall I give it to you once I finish this entry, Sam? Or shall I give it to someone else instead?_

_Silly me. Your name is plastered upon the pages and I plan to give it to someone else? But in all seriousness, I would miss this journal. Keep it safe for me?_

_I know you would._

_I know full well..._


	2. As Plain as the Pain of Morgul Blades

_ **September 17, 3022** _

Merry leaned forward and said, "Well, Frodo, you look quite well today." He added after a few moments, "Not that you'd look..._bad_ or something."

"Just because you've grown taller doesn't mean you could treat me like a very ancient hobbit." Frodo jested, smiling genuinely.

"Am I in the book?" asked Pippin.

"'Course you are, Pippin," Frodo said, "I would never leave out the parts when a certain tween slayed a bunch of Orcs amidst his very small frame." The three chuckled, and burrowed deeper in their blankets.

Merry and Pippin had came from Crickhollow to visit them, and had decided to stay for the night, too, before continuing to do their errands. Since he had retired as the Mayor Deputy, he had settled on just laying low for a while. Sam had slept early with Rosie tonight. They were certainly tired after taking care of Elanor today. They stared at the crackling fire, not saying a word to each other.

"_Gil-Galad was an Elven-king._

_Of him the harpens sadly sing:_

_the last whose realm was fair and free_

_between the Mountains and the Sea_."

Merry and Pippin tensed, and they tear their gazes away from the fire, to Frodo, who had his eyes closed, unaware of the stares that was bestowed upon his hunched figure.

"I remember it clearly, " said Frodo, his voice weary, his gaze distant. "Sam had sung it nights before it happened."

"Yes, cousin." Merry replied reluctantly.

"It is ironic," Frodo replied. "'_There was a lot more, all about Mordor. I didn't learn that part, it gave me the shivers. I never thought I should be going that way myself_!' Sam had said those words with fear beneath his voice. I thought of it, in the Council. If I would be going, then Sam should not come. But there he was, asking if I was to be sent alone. And I did wonder— who would come with me? And then Lord Elrond rose and said that Sam should certainly come with me." He paused, and sighed. "I could see anxiousness in his eyes, because, of course, nobody would want to step foot and cross the miserable land. Then, he still came. Walks and protects me from the Evil that had tried to consume me."

A lone tear fell from his eyes, but Frodo didn't wipe it away. He simply stared at the fire. Pippin looked at him with sadness and unpronounced grief. Merry looked at him with the same emotions, as if mirroring him.

"But maybe things would be better. Perhaps I could find a place to find happiness. Maybe... I would set out and smile again, and I could forget all the things that had happened."

"But it all seemed like a dream."

Merry wrapped his arms around Frodo's back, and Frodo leaned into him. Pippin scooted closer and placed his hand on top of Frodo's left ones, squeezing it gently and confortingly. "Maybe you would find your happiness, cousin, but I doubt that you need to set out and leave."

Frodo only smiled sadly.


	3. Of Picnics and Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippin sees a little creature with eight legs and remembers a fact that he wants to forget but never could.
> 
> It is marked upon Frodo's neck.

** _September 18, 3022_ **

Pippin and Rosie— carrying little Elanor— watched Frodo walking along the hallway towards them, Sam following behind, along with Merry. Pippin noted the thick cloak draped on Frodo's shoulders, his dark curls damp, the usual jewel hanging 'round his neck gifted by the Queen herself, the tired, lazy strut, and he smiled.

"Sorry to get you out of bed so early, cousin Frodo," Pippin said, leading his cousin outside.

"You better have a damn good reason for dragging me out of my bed," Frodo teased. "One Sam would approve of." He gave a playful glance to both Sam and Rosie, which both of them pretended to ignore, smiling to themselves.

For once, Peregrin doubted his decision. Surely dragging his cousin out of bed to have a simple, peaceful picnic is good..._right_? He looked at Merry, who smiled at him good-naturedly. Perhaps it is not even worth it...

"Why the long face, cousin?" Frodo whispered to him, a look of concern crossing his face. Pippin smiled fondly. _Ah_, _Frodo_, he thought, _always worrying for other people instead of himself_. "I'm alright, cousin," he replied, also in a whisper, "I'm just thinking about...stuffs."

"Stuffs like what?" asked Frodo.

"Stuffs...like how you're probably too slow to race me down the hill."

"Oh, you're on," whispered Frodo. And before they knew it, both of them were sprinting, leaving the three laughing hobbits behind (whilst little Elanor still sleep).

* * *

"I was first."

"No, Pippin. I'm the first one."

"My foot was obviously the first one to kick the log."

"You said that the first one would be the one who would touch the tree first. You kicked the log, I touched the tree trunk. I'm the first."

Pippin grumbled "you old ass" under his breath, smiling, while Frodo laughed. It _is_ worth it.

* * *

Frodo slept under the tree, Sam and Rosie resting with Elanor near them. Merry and Pippin were throwing rocks on the pond. So far, everything seems great. They had ate and laughed and sang, and Frodo looked genuinely happy.

Pippin sighed as he threw a rock, smiling at the sound of it hitting the water. He sat down, cross-legged, and looked at his cousin, face relaxed, body covered with blankets.

He still looks so thin and frail. Their attempts of filling him up was in vain, but nobody expressed their dismay about it. They all let it be. He was still as pale as the white sheets in Bag End, though. Everyone cannot keep their concern from showing, but Frodo always wave it off. Pippin was scared that his cheeks would prominently lose their rosy colors. His lips still has a strange tinge of blue that always get him startled whenever he stared at it. Perhaps it is because of the fact that it reminds him of the time in Ithilien, when he had seen him for the first time after the Quest. He remembered the panic and fear that he felt when he placed his cousin's cold hands on his warm ones, scared that maybe Aragorn was wrong and he's _dead_—

Pippin shook the thought out of his head. _It's over now_, he reminded himself as he returned his gaze back to Frodo. He rolled over, his back on Pippin as he continued to doze off. He had removed his cloak earlier and hung it on a branch before he slept.

He could see a mark on the back of his neck. Twin marks. Aragorn had said that Frodo was stung by a big spider— a statement that both Sam and Faramir confirmed.

He felt a faint tickle in his legs, and he looked down to see a little spider crawling up, now reaching his knees. Tears gathered up on his eyes as he looked at his cousin again— the one who suffered the most. The one who had left as himself, and came back to to them as a shell of whom he once was.


	4. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo sleeps. Merry smiles.

_ **September 19, 3022** _

"Frodo?" The voice seemed to reach his ears from a great distance. "Frodo? So now you're locking yourself in the Study."

Frodo felt someone touch his sleeve, and he turned to see Merry standing in the doorway. Never had he seen the hobbit look nonchalant yet concerned. And now he realized that he's tired— he wants to fall to his bed and stay there for two months straight and just sleep.

"Frodo, you're as pale as ashes. Are you all right?"

Frodo gave a small smile, standing up and leaning his hand on the table for support. "Fine, Mer. Just tired, I guess."

"I told you to rest, didn't I?" Merry's tone was of a scolding mother, (_just like Aunt Esme_, thought Frodo with a slight chuckle) yet there was also fondness and amusement in it as he took his cousin's arms and led him out of the Study. "Oh, did you?" asked Frodo, yawning.

"Stubborn hobbit," Merry muttered, wrapping an arm around his back and letting Frodo lean into him, dragging him into a side hug. The elder hobbit sighed contentedly, snuggling close to Merry as he drifted off to sleep, too exhausted than he thought he actually was. As he felt Frodo's body weaken and see his face became slack, Merry let out a sigh, yet he smiled. He wrapped an arm behind Frodo's shoulder and knees, then gently lifted him up. Moments like these are the ones where he's actually thankful of the fact that Frodo is light— he knew his cousin is still recovering, mostly mentally and emotionally, as Gandalf told them, but also, still physically.

He opened the door with his knees, withdrawing the lithe form to the comfortable mattress, covering him with blankets. Merry stood there for a moment, staring at his cousin's form, then left the room after giving him a kiss on the forehead.


	5. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo speaks to Rosie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't done any research (nor have I reread and pick up some context clues in the books but I think there aren't any sooo) but in this story, the Red Book has 97 Chapters in total. I'm not really sure about the contents of the book, but in the FOTR, it's stated that "This book is largely concerned with Hobbits" so it's either about Bilbo, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin's adventures, or the history of the whole Shire. I'm a little confused in that area. But anyways, let us assume that Bilbo wrote perhaps 24 chapters of it, stating his adventures with the Dwarves. Frodo wrote 48 chapters stating the Quest, with Sam, Merry and Pippin adding 25 chapters stating whatever they want to write because they can, okay?
> 
> Have I done the math right? I think so.
> 
> Now on with the story.

**September 20, 3022**

Frodo spent the day at his Study trying to make sense of what he had wrote. He still felt a little weak and a little nauseated, but apart from that, there seemed no illness. Merry and Pippin had insisted on making him stay in bed for he oddly felt a little weak, and there was a never-ending throb in his shoulder that made him wince and cringe every minute or so, but he only smiled and blessed them as they set out to return to Crickhollow, with a warning that he'll set Bag End on fire with the two of them still inside if they stayed and kept on insisting— which is a bad joke, really, with Rosie and Sam being near, but the five of them just laughed it off.

From what he had been able to write so far, it appeared that his memory had already taken him back to his last sighting of Bilbo and Elrond in Rivendell, in the fifth of October, 1419. Which led him to Elrond's last words: "For about this time of the year, when the leaves are gold before they fall, look for Bilbo in the woods of the Shire. I shall be with him."

Frodo would never have tried to guess what it actually meant, but his thoughts kept on going back to what the Lady Arwen then said to him: "But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed."

Certainly the burden of the Ring, the deep scars and still-healing wounds that It left on his mind, and all he had suffered would drive any other people to the edge and accept what Lord Elrond and Queen Arwen had offered. At least Bilbo would be there, right? That's not really bad. Even though he would be away from Sam and Merry and Pippin and Rosie—

No. He couldn't bear it.

Frodo sighed for the umpteenth time. He let go of his quill and winced as he felt another throb from his left shoulder. Was it supposed to hurt this September? From his memory, it could only hurt at October sixth— was he wrong? Did his mind tricked him?

"Mr. Frodo?" came a feminine voice from the doorway. He turned around swiftly to see Rosie, looking at him worriedly, with a small tray of egg sandwiches and tea. Frodo cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "Come in, Rosie."

She entered the room with a soft smile, seeing through him. For these past few years, they had been great friends— ever since she'd only been a bar maiden, they had developed some kind of friendship, since the Cottons are pretty loyal to Bilbo, and Frodo as well since he'd become the master of the Hill. "You haven't had yer rest, then," Rosie said gently, placing the tray near the book he'd been working on. "Just so you know, Master, Sam would always be ready to drag you to bed any time soon, he would." she said, chuckling.

"Where is he, anyway?" asked Frodo.

"Lookin' out for Elanor. He'd tended to the garden earlier, you see, all tired and worn out, and I told him to rest, but of course he's too stubborn— just like you, Mr. Frodo— beggin' your pardon, but 'tis true." They both chuckled, but Rosie noted the fact that Frodo's laughter seemed force, yet she shrugged it off. "You've missed elevenses, and so here it is. Eat, sir, or else I'll bring Sam in here and let him fuss." Rosie winked, smiling at her friend.

"One day, your Sam threats wouldn't work anymore, and I can stay locked up as much as I want." jested Frodo, and Rosie laughed with him. "I'll worry about that later, sir. Now, eat 'n' go get yer rest, Master— I know you want to stay in here, and no mistake, but I think you should lay down and take yer nap after eating before you go back to yer writing again."

Frodo smiled at her genuinely, pouring tea for himself. He paused, and his smile faltered a little, and he looked up to Rosie. "If I would be gone, you would look after Sam, would you?" Rosie's smile slipped, shocked. "Now, don't you be saying things like tha—"

"I'm...serious. I don't know, really." Rosie relaxed her shoulders, and kneeled in front of Frodo.

"Where would you be going, then, Mr. Frodo?" Frodo sighed, looking everywhere but Rosie.

"To the West."

"Would you go back?"

A small voice. "I don't know."

Rosie smiled a tight smile. "Yer leaving me and my Sam."

Frodo sighed. He looked at Rosie, then, his heart clenching to see tears in Rosie's eyes, though she was still smiling. "I do not want to." She nodded.

"But you have to." Frodo looked at her quizzically. She looked back at him. "How did you know?"

"Now, I know I ain't smart, like you and my Sam, but he did tell me about Elves. About how they have to sail into the West to heal. I know you ain't an Elf, but I know you're hurt— more than what I could understand, but I know you need ta heal, right and proper. None of those herbs and teas and all."

Silence.

"Would you tell Sam?" Frodo shook his head. Rosie stood up and gave Frodo a soft kiss on his forehead. "Eat."

Frodo did eat, with a light heart and a slight smile, munching on his sandwich and swallowing tea as he scribbled on the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know how Rosie talks. Seriously.
> 
> But I kinda wanted a Frodo/Rosie friendship because it's impossible to be with someone in the house without befriending them, amirite? I pretty much think that Rosie would be that one Hobbit who always understands what Frodo's going through— no, maybe she doesn't know what Frodo exactly go through, but knows that he is in pain, as much as Sam understands. I think that she and Frodo created a friendship that, maybe they don't communicate that much, but they smile and laugh and talk sometimes, and just enjoy each other's presence. And, no, I do not ship them.
> 
> Here's a little story— I recently glanced a little at the ROTK book, and I saw the date 1421, which is the date that was stated when Elanor was born, and I just stared at it and was like "did I fucked up?". I checked the Appendix B: The Tale of Years, and The Great Years (or the start of the important events) started in 3018 (S.R. [or Shire Reckoning] 1418), and that's pretty much it. 30** S.R. 14**, so the date in this chapter is 3022, or 1422, in Shire Reckoning. Wow, I am so stupid. I spent like thirty minutes figuring these things out, and I immediately smashed myself with a pillow three times because goddamnit I've been a fan for years and this is the first time I thought about this?
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading this crap.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's his last day.

_ **September 20, 3022** _

Frodo let go of his quill and sighed, smiling at his own handwritten words.

It had been the final chapter. When Minas Tirith had finally stood with the King who had finally returned. He looked up at Sam, his soft smile never fading. "How is it, then?"

"Why, you have nearly finished it, Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed. "Well, you have kept at it, I must say."

Frodo closed the book, setting his quill aside and returning his gaze back to Sam. "I have quite finished, Sam," said Frodo. "The last pages are for you."


End file.
